"Orlando's room is 516." I took off the platforms and started up the stairs.
"I will take the elevator and wait for you. It's better, yes? I can make sure the hallway is clear before you enter." Giulio's head bobbed as he backed out of the stairwell door.
"Thanks a lot."
By floor two, my thighs squeaked inside the Lycra furnace. I took off the coat. On floor four, I pulled off the wig. With the sweat, I figured my ginger hair had darkened enough to qualify as a disguise. By floor five, the dress had become so restrictive, I had to push it up my thighs to give my legs enough room to clear the step. Placing a hand against the stairwell door, I hung my head and panted. The door swung open, knocking me against the stairwell wall. I slid to the floor.
"Stay there," whispered Giulio. "Bell boy."
I didn't really have a choice. My thighs had glued together.
Below me, I heard a door open and slam shut. It sounded several floors down, but I panicked. Pushing my hands and back against the wall, I slid up. Hiked the skirt the rest of the way up and tied the coat around my waist. At least I could move. Moving to the stair, I peered over the railing, but couldn't see anyone. However, I could hear voices.
I crossed to the stairwell door and cracked it. Giulio was lounging against it.
"Not yet," he whispered. "A guest is checking in. They have many suitcases on a trolley."
"Someone's in the stairwell," I whispered. "Where's Orlando's room? Can we make a run for it?"
"It is down the hall, past the trolley." Giulio glanced into the stairwell. "What have you done to my Burberry?"
"I got hot and uncomfortable. Your dress sucks."
"Take off the dress and wear the coat. You will make creases. The Burberry is not a towel."
"Oh my God, stop worrying about your coat. I'm not going to strip in the stairwell. There's someone in here. We've got to get into Orlando's room."
"Bell boy." He shut the door.
Below me, the voices grew louder, the conversation cutting in and out. "—then we'll—out—" said a woman excitedly.
I tiptoed to the railing, peered over, but still couldn't see anything.
"And—gun?" said a man.
Gun? I hung over the edge, caught a bit of movement, and pulled myself back. Rushing to the door, I cracked it. "Giulio?"
No Giulio. Craptastic.
Below me, the conversation quieted. Footsteps pattered on the stairs. I shrank against the wall, cracking the door wider. "Giulio," I whispered.
The voices erupted in a scream. A door banged, cutting off the scream.
"What the H?" I ran to the railing. "Hello? Are you okay?"
No answer.
I skidded down three steps before I remembered I couldn't get caught in the resort. I hung over the rail. "Hello?"
The fifth-floor door opened. "Maizie?" said Giulio. "Come now."
I looked down, then up.
"Hurry. They are in the room, but the bell boy will leave in a moment."
Bounding up the stairs, I slipped out past Giulio. "Something weird is going on in the stairwell."
"A fashion emergency, I know." He grabbed my arm, and we jogged down the hall.
At room 516, I noted the Do Not Disturb sign on the door and knocked. No answer. We scanned our card, slipped inside, then peered into the hall. The bell boy emerged from room 511, grabbed the trolley with one hand, and sauntered to the elevators.
"That was close," said Giulio. "My heart is beating like the bird. I love this detective work. And I can see your panties."
I tightened the coat around my waist. "We'll be quick. You start looking for film stuff in the room. I'm going in the bathroom to fix my dress. I'll poke around for clues in there, too."
"Do investigators actually say clues?"
"I have no idea."
Giulio strode into the bedroom. I opened the door at my elbow.
"His bathroom is disgusting and smells. Why didn't he want housekeeping in here?" I left the door open. I untied the Burberry, letting it drop to the floor, and rolled the tube over my hips and up my waist. I gave up trying to peel it over my chest, leaving the twisted fabric as an ultra-thick bandeau. I closed my eyes for a moment, enjoying the cool air on my torso and legs. Taking a deep breath, I inhaled the awful scent, then bent to retrieve the trench coat.
As I rose, I caught my reflection in the mirror, something I'd been trying to avoid. But there I was, Maizie Albright as the ex-star. I once had a taut workout body, glowing skin, and styled hair from my weekly spa date. I dressed in the trendiest fashion that Barney's and Rodeo had to offer. Now, I displayed the paunch of carb weakness, runny mascara, sweat dampened hair, and a bandeau of stripper Lycra around my boobs. I quickly buttoned the Burberry around my shame and snagged a tissue to fix my mascara.
"OMG, I just saw myself," I called to Giulio. "How bored are you to hit on this?"
"Yes, well, today is not your best look. I'll admit that."
While I pined for a way out of my mess in LA, I never thought I'd look like this. Nor did I think I'd be stuck doing someone's accounting, not able to afford a phone or a car, or even a new outfit for a Black Pine party. I thought I'd be driving around town in my old (new) Jag convertible, outfitted with the latest tech while I scoped out cheating spouses and looked for missing children.
And how did I think I'd ever have a shot with Nash? I looked like a psycho and worse, I was a failure at field work.
"OMG, I'm the delusional has-been actress," I thought. "Is this my Norma Desmond or Baby Jane?"
I pinched my thumb to stop the tears and blotted the mascara beneath my eyes. Sniffed and inhaled the putrid stench again. "What in the helabama smells like that?"
I eyed the closed shower curtain behind me.
OMG, I knew what smelled like that.
Clutching the tissue, I turned, sagging against the counter. "Giulio, we've got to get out of here."
"I have not finished looking through his suitcase. He has an interesting collection of film stills…"
"Stop looking," I hissed. "And maybe wipe off everything you've touched? Quickly."
"I can barely understand you when your voice gets high and squeaky."
"Giulio." I tried to swallow the vomit of revulsion working its way up my throat. "Just hurry."
“Take this.” He appeared in the doorway, holding a can of film, and eyed his trench coat. "The creases, not good. But the Burberry with only the shoes? Very sexy. Except for your face. You're so pale and blotchy."
“Put the film down.” I pointed at the shower curtain. "We're going to pull that back and find Orlando."
"What are you saying? Is this one of your games where I must guess the movie? Psycho? No, that was just women in the shower, yes? Wait. The Shining. No, that's also a woman. I'm not good with the old movies, like you."
"I'm saying," I slowly enunciated in a whisper so I wouldn't vomit. "That there is a dead body in the tub. For real."
Giulio's eyes widened. "The smell. Like old fruit and garbage?"
I nodded. "You look."
Giulio dropped the film can and backed out of the room. "You are right. I need to wipe off my fingerprints." He darted around the door.
"Don't leave me in here." I cringed against the sink. "I can't move."
"Come." His head appeared in the doorway, then disappeared.
"We have to look."
"No, we go."
Grabbing my elbow, he jerked me from the sink. I grabbed the shower curtain as he yanked me toward the door. The outer, cloth curtain stretched from the rod. Giulio stepped into the vestibule, dragging me with him.
"Maizie, we go."
I gripped the curtain, wrenching the cloth. We watched, horrified, as the plastic under-curtain dragged along the metal rod, then began to rip away from the hanging loops. The rotting fruit smell grew sharper and more pungent.
"What are you doing?" Giulio released my elbow, threw a hand over his face, and flung open the hall door. "Hurry."
&nbs
p; The curtain sagged halfway open. I could see the top of a head slumped in the tub. The head was bald, bearded, and wore glasses. I tiptoed into the bathroom. Orlando also had a beer gut. Surprising for a stunt man.
"I don't think this is Orlando."
Fifteen
#DopplegangerDilemna #ShesASuspect
"Maizie," hissed Giulio from the hallway. "Let's go."
"Oh my God," I said. "There's a dead body in Orlando's bathtub."
"Come on."
"I found another dead body. Why does this keep happening? What's wrong with me?"
"You are hysterical, and we need to go." Giulio strode back into the room, picked me up, and staggered into the hallway. "I don't do dead lift. You have to walk."
"But—"
Giulio gripped me by my shoulders. "Listen to me. You are on probation. You cannot be here."
I stared into the molten chocolate eyes — which, quite frankly, made me feel even more pukish — and tried to center my unraveling brain. "You're right. Let me get that film first.”
“You cannot take the murder evidence. Even I know this.” Giulio grabbed my hand and dragged me toward the elevator bank. “We are going.”
I dug in my heels and pointed toward the stairs. "We can't go to the lobby. I can't be seen."
"You are so difficult, Maizie." Giulio followed me through the door and down the stairs, cursing in Italian.
"Who was in that tub?" I said. "He didn't look like a stuntman."
"I don't want to know. I'm glad I didn't see it."
"I have to call the police. But I was in that room illegally. With Nash's key. Oh my God, oh my God, oh my…"
"Stop it." We hit the fourth-floor landing, and Giulio yanked on my arm, whirling me around. "You must pull yourself together."
"You're right. Get a grip, Maizie." I pinched my thumb skin and took a cleansing ujjayi breath. "Think. What would Julia Pinkerton do?"
"I have no idea." Giulio's eyes swept to the ceiling. "I never saw the show."
"You've been lying to me all this time—" I checked myself. "Whatever. I was talking to myself, anyway. I need to focus."
I did a Sunrise Salutation, centering my breathing on past scripts and not current dead people.
"We did not bring a yoga mat," said Giulio. "And we need to get out of this building. Would you hurry?"
I rose from my bent position with a final exhale. "In 'Breaker, Breaker' Julia Pinkerton and her friend, Mabel, snuck out to go to a concert."
"Maizie…"
"On the way to the concert, they stopped at a truck stop. Mabel flirts with a hot young trucker — played by John Cashington — while Julia pumps gas. Mabel's not had a lot of success with boys, so it's a big deal to her." I felt myself calming and released another deep breath. "In an earlier episode, Julia had infiltrated a drug ring. When she goes inside to pay for the gas, Julia sees the kingpin. She can't blow her cover. The drug lord thinks Julia's a dealer, her friend has no idea she's a teenage detective. She'd been trying to find the kingpin for three episodes, only knowing him by a description of a very specific tattoo."
"Why would a drug lord be in a truck stop? Surely he has people to get him the Slim Jim."
"The point is, Julia Pinkerton has a dilemma. Follow the bad guys and abandon her friend? Not only is that not cool, but could be dangerous. Plus, their families don't know they're out. Grab Mabel and leave the bad guy she'd been trying to track? Who knows when she'd find him again. Call the police? They don't have any evidence the kingpin is connected. There's nothing to arrest him on, and it would drive him further underground. Julia had been working on making the connections between the kingpin and his henchmen."
"What did Julia Pinkerton do?"
"She had to convince her friend to leave the trucker and go to the concert. She left the kingpin for another episode."
"So, no police."
"Wait here." I bounded up the stairs to the fifth-floor hall. A minute later, I returned. "I grabbed this." I held up the Do Not Disturb sign, then tossed it on the ground. "Housekeeping will find him, and his death will be reported. I feel horrible. It's going to give someone a terrible shock. I wish I had money to leave them a big tip."
"It gave me a terrible shock. I don't like playing detective as much as I thought."
"It can be upsetting."
"Too much stress."
I nodded.
"I am guessing who played that friend, Mabel," said Giulio.
"Right. Cam-Cam. I didn't even think of that." I tapped my chin. "That's sort of a small world-ish, right? A little ironic?"
"They had a happy ending?"
"Actually, even though Julia Pinkerton chose to go to the concert with Mabel instead of following the kingpin, at the concert, the kingpin kidnapped Mabel because he saw Julia and followed her. It was a cliffhanger ending."
"I see."
"It took two more episodes to get Mabel back, and another three before Julia busted the kingpin. By then, there was plenty of evidence against him. Like kidnapping. And, unfortunately, murder.”
"I think I will leave you here." Giulio dipped to double kiss my cheeks, then darted out the fourth-floor exit. "Good luck."
At least I could count on Giulio's consistency. Every Giulio for himself.
I continued down the stairs. Other than my erratic heartbeat, weak knees (maybe due more to the stripper shoes than the corpse), and the churning bile in my stomach, I felt much calmer. All seemed quiet below, which gave me hope that I could sneak out unspotted. Thinking about room 516 gave me the shakes. I focused on a plan to get out of the building and back to the Cove to change. From there, I'd have to break the news to Nash that Orlando was not only missing, but he also had a body count. Unless he was the pudgiest stuntman I've ever met.
The police could now get involved, giving me a feeling of relief. Cam-Cam had totally "shit up" Leonard's movie. No way could the producers keep "murdered man found in bathtub of Cambria's boyfriend's hotel room" out of the news. The odds of Cambria keeping this role certainly seemed against her.
The odds of us keeping the job were even worse. But better than the odds for missing body number one and murdered body number two.
I stopped on the second-floor landing to pant and let my mind stroll over the thought of Cambria losing her job. Could someone be setting Cam-Cam up? Maybe even framing her?
"Duh, Maizie," I muttered. "People don't commit murder to ruin someone's career and reputation. There are easier ways to do that."
Easing down the last flight of the stairs, I mulled over murder motives and stopped before the first-floor door. Easing open the door, I set my eyeball to the crack and peered out into the hallway. The back exit looked clear. I might be caught on camera wearing a pink wig, trench coat, and stripper shoes but there was no way around that. Hopefully, time of death would work in my favor, and there'd be no reason to care about the strip-o-gram entering and exiting at four in the afternoon.
I opened the door a few inches wider to check the end of the hallway opening onto the lobby. Did a double take. Blinked. Popped my head through the door to get a better look. But the scene didn't change. The woman leaning in the lobby doorway and texting on her phone wore a Saint Laurent "Love" t-shirt and Nili Lotan jeans. The same outfit I had stashed in the Cove bathroom.
And she looked exactly like me.
* * *
My brain felt too full, so I operated on survival mode. Ducking my head, I exited the building, then fast-walked to the Cove. In the Cove, I found my stashed clothes. Mini Me hadn't stolen them — not that she was mini, she was (unfortunately) full-sized Maizie Albright — and with the choice of wearing the same outfit as my doppelganger or a Lycra tube top and trench coat, I redressed in the t-shirt and jeans.
I needed Nash. His counsel. His advice. His broad shoulders and light blue eyes. Just looking at him would calm me. We would figure this out together and solve the mystery of "Why does Maizie Albright keep finding dead bodies and have a twin who wears her Blac
k Pine attire and not the stylish prêt-à-porter I had been previously (sort-of) known for?"
Not that it bothered me that Mini Me chose my post-Hollywood wardrobe.
Although it did. A little. Okay, I'm shallow like that.
I hopped on Lucky, zipped across the parking lot, and stopped at a Silverado pickup. A pickup that looked exactly like Nash's, even down to the rust stains on the bumper (actually only guessing on the rust stains) and the Georgia Carry sticker in the back window (that I knew for sure). Except Nash was on the set. Wasn't he? I glanced around, but no Nash came bounding out behind the tennis courts. I hadn't memorized his license plates because I always looked for the extra large, hot hardbody when identifying his truck.
Now would be a good time to have a phone. Again, #notwinning on the phone front.
I peeked in the window. Empty folders lay on the bench seat. A Starbucks cup and a coconut water bottle rested in the cup holders.
Starbucks and coconut water. This was not Nash's pickup.
* * *
Having stopped at the craft table for much needed, therapeutic noshing, I climbed up the short but steep steps into Cam-Cam's trailer. Unlike her cottage, no key needed.
And, thank the heavens, no body littered the floor. I didn't think I could handle more than one a day.
The galley kitchen was sleek, stainless, and high tech. Ironic and unnecessary for someone who had to keep herself caveman fit. A long leather couch and soft leather chairs faced a giant TV screen on the opposite wall. Not that my Julia Pinkerton trailer hadn't been nicely outfitted. Vicki made sure of it. But the bells and whistles on Cambria's trailer appeared more luxuriously obnoxious.
If luxuriously obnoxious was a thing.
Along with the range of other emotions I held, the green-eyed monster also seemed to have gripped my heart.
"I'm living my dream," I muttered. "My teenage dream." My mantra was better fit for a Katy Perry lyric. Nevertheless, now that I couldn't afford a therapist, I needed these reminders. And with the day I was having, I needed all the self-therapy I could get.
"I should probably search this trailer," I mumbled. But my heart wasn't in it. "Later." I set my food service plate on the small coffee table, sank onto the supple couch, and closed my eyes. Then shot to my feet as the trailer door opened. Cam-Cam climbed the steps. With Nash. He looked glower-y, formidable, and in no way happy to see me.
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